And I have all the friends I need anyway.
Eleven lives with me now. She is the only link I have left to Jack.
I know it’s stupid to still think about him after everything that happened. But I do.
Not that I would ever tell Cole this. He’d be angry with me. He thinks I adopted Eleven because I couldn’t bear the thought of her not having a home. Which is the same reason that, before I left Jackson, I adopted Gary and Pork Chop, and I brought them all to LA to live with me.
Cole loves the dogs. And he likes Eleven, and she him. Which I was surprised at. Not at Eleven liking him, but Cole liking her.
I thought he’d dislike her because she was Jack’s cat. But he seems to have a bond with her.
It makes me happy.
So, yeah, we definitely have a full house with those three. But I love going home to them all after a day at work. They give me purpose.
“Is anyone sitting here?”
I turn my head at the deep male voice close behind me.
The first thing I see is the suit. Tailor-made. Beer bottle in hand. Rolex around his wrist.
I lift my eyes to his face.
Tanned skin. Dark brown hair cut into a short, neat style. Brown eyes. Handsome.
Though I have no interest.
Yes …
No.
The man smiles. It’s a nice smile. Easy and relaxed.
“Sorry if I’m bothering you,” he says after I say nothing. “I’m just looking for a spot to sit down and enjoy my beer. It’s been a long-ass day.”
Yes …
No.
“You didn’t … you’re not bothering me,” I answer politely.
But say no to the seat, I tell myself.
What can it hurt?
My heart is suddenly beating fast. I start to feel drowsy.
This has been happening so much recently. I’ve always struggled with tiredness since I was a kid. But these bouts of fatigue, they come on so quickly and from out of nowhere, making me fall asleep in random places. But the frightening thing is … I always wake up hours later, back at home and with no clue how I got there. It’s been happening regularly since I left Jackson and moved here, and it’s scary as hell.
I haven’t told anyone. Not even Cole.
I don’t want him to worry.
But last month, it was at the bus stop when a woman took a seat on the bench beside me. The month before that, it was in a diner when I shared a booth with this nice man who had asked if he could sit at the table with me because the diner was packed.
Kind of just like what’s happening now …
I blink, staring up at the man. My vision starts to go hazy. Dark.
This isn’t … no … I can’t … don’t fall asleep.
Audrey.
Yes?
Rest now.
Cole
I blink open my eyes as I stretch out, taking full control, putting Audrey to rest.
God, that feels so much better.
Smiling easily, I pat a hand on the seat of the empty chair beside me. “The seat is all yours,” I tell him, putting a flirty tone into my voice.
I watch him sit, feeling that excitable energy flood my system. The feeling that I always get when it’s my time.
I’m no fool. I know exactly why this guy came over. And it wasn’t for a seat.
He wants to fuck.
Meaning I get to have some fun tonight.
Angling my body toward his, I hold out my hand. “I’m Audrey,” I tell him.
“Tate,” he says. Taking my hand, he shakes it gently.
He thinks I’m delicate.
Idiot.
Letting go of his hand, I lean back in my seat and pick up my wine.
I cross one leg over the other, letting the skirt that Audrey dressed in this morning slip off my knee, revealing plenty of thigh.
His eyes drift to my legs.
So. Predictably. Easy.
I almost want to laugh.
Covering my smile with my glass, I take a slow sip of my wine before putting it back down.
I lean forward, place my elbow on the table, and rest my chin in my palm as I stare over at him. “So, tell me, Tate”—I let my teeth seductively graze over my lower lip—“do you live around here?”
Tate’s eyes latch onto mine. His pupils dilate, and a slow smile spreads across his mouth.
He thinks he knows what I’m suggesting.
He has no clue.
No. Fucking. Clue.
Because men like Tate don’t sense danger in attractiveness. They only think of one thing when they look at a woman like Audrey.
Sex.
They never see me coming.
And that works perfectly.
As I stand and leave the bar with Tate, his hand on my lower back, I smile inwardly, thinking to myself, What an amusing irony it is that people like Tate are lured in by Audrey’s beauty.
Because, to me, there is nothing prettier than death.
And tonight … his death is going to look as pretty as hell.
I’m going to keep this one short. But what I do want to say is that Dead Pretty has been my biggest challenge to date in my writing career. Amid a global pandemic, I wrote a book that tested me to my absolute limits, and I couldn’t have done it without these handful of people.
My husband and children. There are no other three people in this world that I would want to be stuck in a house with for seven weeks and counting and continue to still be laughing and having the best time with. Infinity and beyond, my people.
Mostly, I owe the completion of this book actually happening to Vic and Tash. My Ungodly Hour Sprint Team. You both are my six-thirty-in-the-morning kick in the butt. I literally couldn’t have finished this book without you both. And of course, I can’t forget to mention Caaaaaaaaaaarllllllll!
My Wether Girls. My online home. To be surrounded by wonderful, supportive women such as you helps to restore my faith in the human race daily, and I’ve
